


Llorona

by RunWonderlandRun



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, Suspense, ghost(kind of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:59:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunWonderlandRun/pseuds/RunWonderlandRun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She got out of her bed, knife still in her hand and went to the window. Allison peered through her curtains. The street was deserted. There was nobody out there. She opened the curtains further. She didn’t see anything. Sighing, Allison closed the curtains and climbed back into her bed. She kept the knife by her side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Llorona

                Allison woke up to the sound of wailing. Blinking, she sat up on her bed and listened. She moved her hand under the pillow and took hold of her dagger. Allison waited. Seconds later, the crying started again. It sounded like a woman and Allison wondered if it was Lydia crying.

                She got out of her bed, knife still in her hand and went to the window. Allison peered through her curtains. The street was deserted. There was nobody out there. She opened the curtains further. She didn’t see anything. Sighing, Allison closed the curtains and climbed back into her bed. She kept the knife by her side.

                                                                                                -------

                Someone was crying. Stiles opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He held his breath and listened. Someone was sobbing. He got up from the bed and went to the window. The crying died down. He opened the curtains and looked out into the dark streets. He couldn’t see anybody. Confused, Stiles grabbed his sweater and quietly ran down the stairs.

                He opened the door and walked to the sidewalk. Stiles looked up and down the row of houses but he couldn’t see anybody. He couldn’t hear anything either. Sighing, he walked back into his house and locked the door. He crawled back into bed and pulled the comforter over his face. He fell asleep.

                                                                                                --------

                The next night, Allison was shaken awake by screams. Gasping, she grabbed her dagger and rolled to the ground. She scanned her darkened room. She didn’t hear anything. Heart racing, Allison stood and flicked the lamp on. There was nobody in her room. Frowning, she opened her bedroom door and went out into the hallway. It was dark and still.

                Allison stalked every room, searching for something but finding nothing. She even pressed her ear to her father’s room but the only thing she heard was his snores. An hour later, she climbed back into her bed. She left the light on.

                                                                                                --------

                Gasping, Stiles fell out of bed. Someone was shrieking. He fumbled out of his sheets and grabbed the bat by his bed. Holding it tight, Stiles turned on the light and looked around his room. It was empty. There was nobody. Biting his lip, he moved toward the door and opened it. The hallway was deserted. He turned on the light and went down the stairs, the bat raised and ready to strike.

                The living room was empty. So was the kitchen. Rolling his eyes, Stiles lowered the bat and headed back up the stairs, grumbling. He tossed the bat beside his bed and flopped under the covers. Stiles listened. He still didn’t hear anything. He left the lights on.

                                                                                                -------

                On the third night, Allison’s father heard the wailing. They were eating when the crying started. Her father dropped his fork and stared at the front door. The sobbing got louder. Her father clenched his jaw and palmed the gun in his holster. Allison reached for her bow and arrow. The crying intensified. Allison followed her father into the living room. The room was cold, and Allison felt the hair on her neck stand.

                The sobs turned to screams. Wincing, her father unlocked the door. Allison raised her bow, an arrow ready. The screams changed pitch. Her father flung the door open and—

                Nothing. There wasn’t anyone or anything on the other side. The crying stopped. The cold dissipated, leaving Allison uncomfortably warm. Her father let out a breath and closed the door. He turned to Allison, his back stiff and his eyes narrowed. She looked away.

                “Do you know what that was?”

                “No,” she answered truthfully, “but…I’ve been hearing it the past couple of nights,” she continued. Her father looked worried.

                “Why didn’t you tell me?”

                “I thought I was just having a nightmare,” Allison said, putting down her bow and arrows, “I mean, I never found anything, I never saw anything I just,” she sighed, “I thought I was having a nightmare.”

                Her father shook his head, “That wasn’t a nightmare.”

                “No,” Allison agreed, looking at the door, “No it wasn’t.”

                                                                                                ---------

                Stiles father had the night off when the sobs returned. They had been watching TV when the weeping started. His father turned off the television. The room was cold. Frowning, the sheriff got his gun out and looked around the living room. Stiles wished he had his bat with him. The wailing got louder. It sounded like it was coming from outside. His father moved to the door, his steps sure and quiet. Stiles followed him, his heart trying to beat out of his chest.

                The crying dissolved into horrible shrieks. Cringing, his father grabbed the doorknob, his gun out and ready. Stiles looked around the room for something he could used. The shrieks continued. His father opened the door and—

                Nobody. There was nobody outside their door. The shrieks died down. Sighing, Stiles leaned against the wall. He felt hot. His dad stepped outside and looked around. He put his gun away and stepped back in, closing the door behind him.

                “What just happened?” he asked.

                “I don’t know,” Stiles whispered, “I don’t know.”

                His father stared at him.

                “I heard it a couple of nights ago,” he shrugged, “I didn’t tell you because I—I thought it was a dream,” Stiles said, “I thought it was just a dream.”

                “That was no dream,” his father said. Stiles nodded.

                “Yea,” Stiles looked outside the window, “I know.”

                                                                                                ------

                The next day, Allison went to Lydia. She told her friend what she’d been hearing and asked if she noticed anything odd.

                “Well it’s not me,” Lydia said, wrinkling her nose, “I haven’t screamed since—“ she waved her hand, “you know.”

                “I know it’s not you,” Allison said, “the screams…didn’t sound the same,” she paused, “there was—I don’t know how to explain it,” Allison began to pace, “there was this desperation, this—this god-awful suffering and—“ she sat down on Lydia’s bed, “I don’t know. It felt…cold.”

                Lydia looked at her, “This is way beyond my expertise,” she reached for the books on her bedside table, “but I can try and figure it out.”

                                                                                                --------

                Stiles didn’t trust Deaton but the man knew his way around the supernatural. He went to his office after Scott’s shift was over. 

                “So,” he watched Deaton put away his things, “I’ve been hearing this weird crying lately,” the man turned to him, one eyebrow raised, “and I have no idea who or what it is.”

                Deaton hummed. He paused and looked at Stiles.

                “Did anyone else hear it?” he asked. Stiles nodded and picked at his fingers.

                “My dad.”

                “It’s not Lydia,” it wasn’t a question, “tell me something, Stiles; what do the screams sound like?”

                “I don’t know,” Stiles huffed, “first it sounds like crying and then—“ he thought, “they sound…desperate like—“ he bit his lips, “like it’s looking for something, and then the screams,” he shivered, “god the screams…”

                Deaton stared at him, “I’ll see what I can find,” he said, “in the meantime, I suggest you stick close to your friends.”

                                                                                                -------

                The crying came back. Allison laid in her bed, her eyes open and a knife in her hand. Her father was asleep. He couldn’t hear it. Half way through the night, the sobbing changed. It became softer; human.

                “Allison,” someone called her name, “Allison.”

                She felt her heart stop. She opened and closed her mouth but no sound came forward.

                “Allison…”

                She tripped out of bed and ran to the window. In the middle of the streets was her mother. Allison dropped her dagger and staggered forward.

                “Mom?” she whispered. The figure looked up at her. Her mother was dressed in white. Blood coated her hands but she had a smile on her face. Allison started shaking, “mom?”

                Her mother faded away. Allison choked on a scream. She opened the window and stuck her head outside. She couldn’t see anything. She looked back to the spot where her mother was. There was nothing left.

                Allison spent the rest of the night staring at the street.

                                                                                                -------

                Stiles dad was gone when the crying came back. He couldn’t sleep. It didn’t stop. At three in the morning, the weeping changed pitch. It sounded familiar. Curious, Stiles got up from his bed and went to his window. He opened the curtain and looked out in the empty street.

                “Lolek…” someone called his name, “Lolek…”

                He felt his stomach drop. Stiles hands shook.

                “Lolek…”

                “No,” Stiles said, “no, no, no, no,” he pulled the curtain further back and stared out into the street. There was a woman standing there, dressed in white. She looked up at Stiles.

                “Mom?” Stiles felt as if he was going to faint, “Mom?” the woman smiled at him and raised her arms. Stiles felt sick. He closed his eyes.

                “I’m dreaming,” he said, “It’s a dream, it’s a dream,” he gasped, “wake up, wake up, wake up.”

                Stiles opened his eyes. His mother was gone. He fell to his knees and curled in on himself. He spent the rest of the night on the floor, shaking.

                                                                                                --------

                The next morning Allison’s father told her something.

                “The sheriff asked me if we’ve encountered anything,” he looked at her, “odd.”

                “Oh?” Allison asked, poking at her eggs. She felt tired.

                “Yea,” her father set down a cup of coffee next to her, “a couple of nights ago, the sheriff and Stiles heard someone crying.”

                “They did?” Allison looked up at her father. She stood up, “did,” she swallowed a yawn, “did they see anything?”

                Her father blinked, “The sheriff didn’t see anything,” he sat down and stabbed his bacon, “but he’s pretty sure that Stiles saw something yesterday,” he paused, “something bad.”

                Allison remembered what she saw, “I see,” she sipped her coffee, “maybe I should go talk to him then,” she said, “to see if he saw anything.”

                Her father nodded, “That might be best.”

                                                                                                -------

                Someone was knocking. Stiles looked at the door. He got up from the couch and went to open it, expecting to see Scott.

                “Oh?” he rubbed his eyes, “Allison…” he took a step back, “Um…what are you doing here?” he smiled, “not that I’m not happy to see you but—“

                “I’ve been hearing a woman crying outside my house for the past couple of nights,” Allison said, “and from what my dad tells me, you’ve been hearing it too.”

                Stiles reeled back and stared at Allison. He laughed and shook his head, “Ok, um…” he moved to the side, “come in.”

                Allison stepped inside and moved to the living room. Stiles was about to close the door when Scott came running in.

                “Hey,” his friend greeted, “what did you want to talk to me about?” Scott stopped. He took one sniff and looked down the hallway. His eyes met Allison. He looked at Stiles.

                “What’s going on?” he asked. Stiles chuckled.

                “I have no freaking clue,” he said, steering his best friend to the living room, “but I think Allison and I are being haunted by something.”

                                                                                           --------

                They told Scott what they heard and saw. Allison looked away when she told them about her mother. Stiles didn’t say much about what he saw. Scott listened to them both, a frown on his face. When they were done, he ran a hand through his hair.

                “Scott,” Allison asked, “do you know what this is?”

                “Did you tell Deaton about this?” he asked Stiles, “maybe he knows something.”

                Stiles groaned, “That man told me nothing, Scott. He has no idea what it could be, “Scott didn’t meet his eyes. Stiles frowned.

                “You know what is,” Allison said, “don’t you?”

                Scott shook his head. He sat back down, “It sounds familiar but,” he laughed, “honestly, I don’t really think it could be that, I mean…it’s just a legend.”

                “Dude,” Stiles said, “Werewolves are just a legend and yet,” Stiles raised his hands, “here we are!”

                “True,” Scott let out a breath, “when I was five years old, I went to Mexico to visit my grandparents. The third night I was down there, something woke me up,” he fidgeted, “I went into the kitchen and I saw one of my cousins walking into the garden. There was a woman there, dressed in white, crying,” Allison looked at Stiles. He was pale, “I remember screaming. The woman disappeared and my cousin fainted.”

                Scott looked at them both, “The next morning, my aunt took me aside and she told me the story of La Llorona.”               

                Allison frowned, “Llorona…”

                “The Weeping Woman,” Scott told her, “A long time ago, a beautiful woman named Maria who had two kids—a boy and a girl. She fell in love with a handsome man who came to the village but he wasn’t interested in her because she had children,” Scott sighed, “so she drowned her kids in the river to be with him,” he grimaced, “but the man was horrified and ran away. So Maria killed herself.”

                “Oh my God,” Stiles tugged at his hair, “oh my God.”

                “A couple of days after they buried her, the villagers saw a woman dressed in white walking up and down the river bank, calling for her children. My aunt told me that she’s…drawn to orphans.”

                “Orphans,” Allison repeated. Her mother came to mind, “she’s drawn to us because we’re orphans.”

                                                                                                --------

                Stiles dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was tired. He was tired and all he wanted to do was sleep and forget about everything.

                “How do we get rid of her?” Stiles asked, “I mean, what she does want with us?”

                “I don’t know,” Scott said, “I just know that if any child went with her…they were never found.”

                “Ok,” Allison looked at Scott, “she was after your cousin, I’m guessing.”

                Scott nodded.

                “Alright,” Stiles cracked his knuckles, “what did your cousin do? I mean—I’m assuming your cousin didn’t disappear so they must have done something to get rid of her right?”

                “Yea,” Scott tapped his knee, “I think all he had to do was to…” he clapped his hands, “Remember.”

                “….Remember  what?” Stiles asked. He looked at Allison. She shrugged.

                “My aunt told him to remember that his mother was gone,” Scott winced and bowed his head.

                “I see,” Allison looked at the ground, “I see,” she repeated. Allison stared at him. Stiles stared at the wall. Nothing more was said.  

                                                                                                -------

                Allison didn’t tell her father anything. All she told him was that the creature wasn’t anything dangerous, and that it would soon pass. Allison left the curtains opened and got into bed. She didn’t try to sleep. Instead, she waited. A little after three, she heard the woman crying. She didn’t get out of the bed.

                _She’s dead_ , Allison thought, _she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead_

                The wailing grew louder.

                _She’s dead_ , Allison repeated, _she killed herself_ , she swallowed back tears, _she’s dead because she didn’t want to be a werewolf_

                Her room got cold. Allison shivered.

                _She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead_

                The sobbing increased. Allison closed her eyes and tried not to listen.

                _She’s dead she’s—_

                Water enveloped her. Allison gasped and shot up, coughing. She looked around. She was in a river. Her mother was holding her down. Her eyes were gold.

                “You’re dead,” Allison whispered, “you’re dead.”

                The woman squeezed her throat. Allison grabbed kicked.

                “You’re dead!” she screamed, “you’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead!”

                The woman kept squeezing.

                “You’re dead,” Allison choked out, “you’re dead,” she grabbed the woman’s hands and took a breath, “YOU’RE DEAD.”

                The woman dropped her back into the water. Allison closed her mouth—

                She was back in her room. She was cold and wet. Coughing, Allison fell on her bed. She took a deep breath and listened. She didn’t hear anything. She closed her eyes and touched her neck. It was wet. Quivering, she pulled the covers over her head. Eventually, Allison fell asleep. The wailing didn’t come back.

                                                                                                -------

                Stiles lied to his father. He told him not to worry, that the wailing spirit would soon be gone. His father didn’t seem to believe him, but he didn’t push for any details. Stiles didn’t try to sleep. Instead, Stiles closed the curtains and played around on his computer. A couple of hours later, his room grew cold. He heard a woman sobbing.

_She’s dead_ , Stiles whispered, _she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead_

                The wailing grew louder.

                _She died a long time ago_ , Stiles repeated, his eyes glued to his computer, _she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead_

                The sobs turned to shrieks. Stiles closed his eyes and covered his ears.

                She’s dead, she’s dead she’s dead—

                Stiles fell into water. Someone was choking him. He gasped and opened his eyes. His mother stared back at him, an empty grin on her face.

                “She’s dead,” Stiles scratched at the woman’s hands, “she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead.”

                The woman kept strangling him.

                “She’s dead!”   

                He couldn’t breathe. Stiles growled and opened his mouth.

                “YOU’RE DEAD! YOU’RE DEAD!”

                The woman let go of him—

                Stiles fell on the floor. Panting, he looked around his room, but there was no sign of the woman. Shaking, he got up and crawled into his bed. He touched his neck. It was wet. Still trembling, Stiles got under his comforter. He stared out the window until he fell asleep. The wailing didn’t return.

**Author's Note:**

> Got inspired while listening to the song "Llorona". Also, tweaked the legend of La Llorona just a little bit.


End file.
